


Catching Flies with Vinegar

by jellybeanforest



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - Western, Comedy, Cooking, Getting Together, M/M, Omega Steve Rogers, Omegaverse, POTS Stony Stocking, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, implied James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov - Freeform, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: In the Western town of Copper Ridge, the Society of Genteel Omegas organizes a charity pie baking contest judged by the town’s most eligible alpha, Dr. Anthony Stark, where the winner will receive not only a blue ribbon and bragging rights but a coveted date with the man himself.Omega Steve Rogers has always had something of a crush on Dr. Stark, and so he enters the contest despite his rather questionable skills in the kitchen.For Fiftyshadesofstony for the POTS Stony Stocking 2020.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 96
Collections: POTS (18+) Stony Stocking 2020





	Catching Flies with Vinegar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fiftyshadesofstony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiftyshadesofstony/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [fiftyshadesofstony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiftyshadesofstony/pseuds/fiftyshadesofstony) in the [stony_stocking_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/stony_stocking_2020) collection. 



“Steve. You know I love you,” Natasha is saying, her tone impassive in the face of culinary disaster. “You’re Buck’s best friend, and that makes you family in my book, so I say this with all the love in my heart.” She peers over the blackened abomination still smoking in the flat-bottomed cast iron pot. “You can’t serve this… this _pie_ to Dr. Stark. It’s charcoal. It ain’t fit for human consumption, and forcing him to judge it might even constitute a crime against humanity.” She prods at the concoction with a long fork, and the crust crumbles to ash. “Poisonin’s still a jail-able offense these days, right?”

Steve’s shoulders slump. “That bad, huh?”

“Sweetie… Lemme put it this way: I think even ol’ Betty Lou would turn up her nose to your pie if I tried to mix it in her slop trough, and she’ll eat a leather boot.”

“But I used all my airtights from last summer bakin’ this here peach cobbler.” And there won’t be any more for a couple months yet. Even the general store he ran was fresh out with all the eligible omegas in a five mile radius buying up ingredients for the upcoming charity pie baking contest. Of course, that had less to do with the residents of Copper Ridge having simultaneously caught an altruistic streak and more to do with the very single, very handsome Dr. Stark who had been ~~coerced~~ offered up as first prize.

Steve had never been much of a baker himself, but how could he not at least try? After all, it’s Dr. Stark who made his knees weak whenever the man popped in for his weekly grocery run, Dr. Stark, who he saw often for his asthma, who would make him blush every time he listened in on his heart and told him it was running a little fast. With his dark eyes, well-coiffed hair and a comely van dyke, Dr. Stark had his pick of eligible omegas. He flirted with Steve at the general store of course, but then again, he flirted with everyone, old and young, attractive and less so alike. Steve wasn’t special. He knew better than to think any of it meant more than it did, and if he hadn’t been so tongue-tied around the good doctor, maybe he would have said something ages ago, perhaps even responded to one of Dr. Stark’s suggestions that they go out to dinner together sometime. Maybe then, the man would have blustered in embarrassment that Steve had actually taken him seriously and rejected him outright. Steve would have been left to lick his wounds, but at least he’d be on his way to overcoming the ridiculous notion that maybe he could have a strapping alpha like Dr. Stark. Instead, he had nursed this stupid, long-shot hope that his pie would… would what? Make Dr. Stark overlook his many and varied deficiencies of which he was all too intimately familiar. Steve was too small for an omega, underweight with narrow hips and a pallid, sickly countenance. He should just give up, but then again–

“The taste test is in four hours at noon,” he states.

Steve never did know when to quit.

“Don’t panic.” Nat dons a pair of work gloves to remove the pot from the fire, intending to scrub it out for the next attempt. “You don’t need no fruit to bake a decent pie. I got some pie plant you can use.”

* * *

The rhubarb pie doesn’t fair much better. It isn’t charcoal, but having forgotten to include any vents in the top crust, the pie had exploded, and the sugared rhubarb had carmelized to a dark brown. The result might have been borderline edible, but it wasn’t a winning pie by any stretch of the imagination.

“It… um… maybe a lattice top would have been better?” Steve suggests with the benefit of hindsight.

Nat sighs. “There’s some sheep sorrel out back. It’s a fine substitute for lemon. You still got some hen fruit left?”

“Picked fresh this morning.”

“Okay then, division of labor. I’ll get this cleaned out… again. I’ll fix up a crust, and you pick the sheep sorrel and mix up the custard.”

* * *

The sheep sorrel pie is pristine. Under Natasha’s watchful eye and expertise in handling the cooking fire, the custard comes out a glossy speckled green without so much as a scorch mark.

“Thank you so much, Nat. It’s perfect!” Steve declares.

But Nat looks dubious. She picks up the long fork, aiming towards to the edge of the custard near the crust.

Steve grabs her arm before she can make contact. “What are you doing?”

“Taste test,” Nat replies. “I ain’t gonna harm it none. I just want to try the custard. Dr. Stark won’t even see it. Promise.”

Steve lets go of her hand, allowing her to dip an edge of one of the tines into the custard before withdrawing. Tentatively, she sticks out her tongue, barely touching the tiny sliver of pie.

She nearly gags and looks like she’d very much like to spit.

“What’s wrong?” Steve says, looking alarmed.

“Steve… did you mix up the sugar and salt?”

* * *

There’s a little under an hour left when Steve has finally cooked a decent, if unattractive, vinegar pie. Having exhausted his and Nat’s reserve of cow grease, he cannot afford to remake another. Natasha tastes the custard, declaring it his most palatable, least burnt attempt yet. Unfortunately, she’s not blind. They both can see that the eggs are slightly curdled underneath the crisp surface, the custard broken and not quite congealed into a cohesive milky pie. Still…

It will have to do.

* * *

Steve hadn’t been feeling particularly confident about his entry – especially among all the other better-baked, more-elaborate pies – but the stage-whispers of the town belle, Sunset Bain, make him feel even worse.

“Would you look at the Rogers boy’s pie?” she titters behind a delicate white-gloved hand to Betty and Midge. “How does the saying go: you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?”

In contrast to Steve’s pedestrian and admittedly subpar effort, Sunset herself had baked a gorgeous cherry pie, the expensive fruit dark red and glistening under a perfectly-golden brown lattice crust topped with a heart cut out of dough. Though technically in season, cherries didn’t grow this far south. She must have had them delivered special. It is an embarrassment to be seated right next to a far superior specimen of baking prowess. Steve’s attempt, valiant though it had been, is doomed to failure. There’s no way he can compete.

Steve is fixing to pull out of the competition completely when the Mayor introduces the judge of the charity pie contest: Dr. Anthony Stark, and suddenly he can’t breathe. The man is as beautiful as ever, looking sharp in a charcoal suit tailor-made to his specifications with matching hat and complementary red waistcoat. He smiles and tips his hat in greeting at the row of omegas standing behind their pies, his eye momentarily lingering on Steve at the very end. He gives him a wink.

Utterly transfixed, Steve’s stomach flips and he swallows on air.

Well he’s already come this far, so…

Dr. Stark compliments the first baker as he cuts himself a slice of peach pie, tasting it before declaring it a hard pie to beat. The pretty omega blushes, mumbles some self-deprecating nonsense that Dr. Stark brushes off with more words of encouragement. “You’ve done an amazing job, Beth. It’s absolutely delicious.”

Maybe it would mean more if he didn’t say variations of the same to the bakers of the next twenty pies. It’s a close race from Beth’s peach pie to Rue’s red bean pie with meringue; Dr. Stark praises each and every one so it is unclear who the frontrunner might be as he approaches the flawless cherry pie immediately to Steve’s right.

“Hello Tony,” Sunset simpers, sweet as honey.

“Miss Bain,” Dr. Stark replies with a smile as he eyes her pie, taking note of the decorative touches. “What a lovely pie you have here. However did you get the crust so flaky?”

“I don’t skimp on the butter, and I don’t take shortcuts,” she says, her eyes flitting to the omega she deemed her greatest competition. Rumors, likely spread by Sunset herself, were that Austin had used Charlie Taylor instead of real butter to flavor his decadent Indian pudding pie. “Everything I bake is made with love and care.”

Dr. Stark cuts a slice, which comes out clean, the fruit having perfectly set. “That is a mighty handsome slice if I do say so myself.”

“You can have my cherry pie anytime, Tony,” she murmurs, low enough so only those close by can hear.

Dr. Stark nearly chokes on his first bite, pounding his chest discreetly as he clears his throat. He accepts a glass of cool water.

“Is anything the matter?”

“No… I– uh, no, I’m quite fine,” Dr. Stark manages as he puts his plate aside. “That’s um… it’s an excellent pie. You should be proud. A fine effort, Miss Bain.”

Her voice drops low again. “The best you’ve ever had?”

“There’s still one left, darling, before I… before I make my decision.” He quickly moves on to Steve’s pie, leaving Sunset somewhat disappointed. “And what do we have here?”

“Vinegar pie,” Steve replies.

“Mm hm. I have to say, vinegar pie is my special favorite. My mother used to bake them when I was a boy,” he declares.

Steve perks up. So, he has nostalgia on his side. Sunset looks like she done swallowed a frog, but Steve pays her no heed, mesmerized as he is on Dr. Stark’s smile as the man cuts a slice. Predictably, the custard oozes out a little, having not properly set, and it’s clearly as curdled as Nat had surmised, but Dr. Stark… if he notices at all, he doesn’t let on. He must have gotten his fill of pie having sampled over twenty already, and so he only cuts the tiniest corner from the tip of his slice. It has the consistency of wet scrambled eggs baked in a tin sheet pan instead of the silky smooth texture of custard, but Dr. Stark only stares straight at Steve as he tastes the pie…

And goes on quite the face journey.

He… well, there’s no other way to put it– He _chews_ the pie for much longer than necessary, almost as if he dares not swallow out of some animalistic instinct for self-preservation. Steve’s heart drops as he witnesses surprise, then dismay, possibly fleeting disgust, before Dr. Stark manages to gulp down the single bite. Steve knows he’s lost; all that’s left is for the man to inform the rest of the spectators gathered around.

“This… this pie…” Dr. Stark says, tears in his eyes as he takes a minute to down a full glass of water. “This pie reminds me of my dearly departed mother’s pie. God rest her soul. Mr. Rogers, I proclaim your pie the winner of this here charity pie baking contest.”

Steve is stunned. Vaguely, he registers the polite clapping of the audience and disappointment of the other contestants as the Mayor pins the blue ribbon to his pie plate, but all he sees is Dr. Stark… Tony holding his hand out to him expectantly.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler Alert: Tony’s mother never baked. He just wanted a date with Steve.
> 
> Based on a prompt by Fiftyshadesofstony as part of the 2020 Stony Stocking: “A/B/O Western AU: Alpha Tony is the very single town doctor, and in an effort to find him a possible mate, a pie baking contest is organized where the winning Beta or Omega wins a date with the doctor. Omega Steve enters the contest (because he has a raging crush on Tony and some part of him can’t let someone else win him over), and since he knows his pie is absolute shit, he’s a little more than stunned when he wins anyway.”
> 
> These are all actual pies from Western Frontier cookbooks. Lemon was a popular pie back in the day when citrus was hard to come by, so sheep sorrel (also called lemon clover) was used to get a similar flavor. 
> 
> Definitions for Old West terms from the 1800s:  
> Airtights: Canned goods (corn, peaches, tomatoes, and milk)  
> Pie Plant: Rhubarb  
> Hen Fruit: Eggs  
> Cow Grease: Butter  
> Charlie Taylor: A substitute for butter. A combination of molasses and bacon grease


End file.
